


What Drives Us

by Terion



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-04 07:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1770871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terion/pseuds/Terion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are never any guarantees in life, so take what opportunities you can. That was but one of the lessons Elena Amell took from the Tower but it was one that she forgot at the worst time. And that mistake that seemed so small will lead her on a path she never imagined taking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Possibilities

Elena sighed and finally gave up the pretext of trying to focus on the book she’d recently liberated from the Tower when she and her merry band of misfits had “stormed” it. Not even her favorite magical theory text could distract her from the fact that Morrigan was standing just at the edge of the ring of light from the main campfire with this air of unease about her.

 

“Morri, I don’t bite, you know,” she chided, lifting her eyes from the book to stare at her fellow mage. The apostate abruptly straightened and sniffed as she turned her head aside, reminding Elena of an upset bird with its feathers ruffled.

 

“May we speak? In private?”

 

Elena frowned and flicked her eyes around the camp, seeing no one else around but them. She knew Wynne was long asleep for certain and Alistair’s light snore was directly behind her from their shared tent. Oghren was probably out cold drunk in his tent (at least she  _hoped_  he was in his tent this time) so that left Leliana and Zevran as their only likely eavesdroppers but their tents were far enough away they likely weren’t to hear much.

 

Morrigan must have noticed her glance because she said, “Tis not the sort of things one wants to be overheard.”

 

Elena frowned but slipped a scrap of ribbon she’d gotten from Leliana into her book to mark the page then rose to her feet to follow Morrigan. To her surprise, the apostate led her not back to her personal fire but some distance away from the camp into the woods and then stood there nervously for a moment before she blurted out a question that made Elena’s heart skip a beat or two.

 

“Are you aware that a Warden must die to kill the Archdemon?”

 

It seemed like her mouth forgot how to connect for her brain as she couldn’t immediately find any words for a response or even say them if she had any. Then Elena thought of the motto of the Wardens -  _in war, victory; in peace, vigilance; in death, sacrifice_  - and managed to choke out, “I didn’t know that.” She swallowed, took a deep breath to center herself, then added, “But given the motto talking about sacrifice, not really surprising. How do  _you_  know this?”

 

She didn’t ask if it was true; she trusted Morrigan.

 

“Mother, of course,” answered Morrigan and Elena nodded. That was exactly the answer she’d suspected. “Tis possible that neither you nor the fool need to die to kill it.”

 

Part of Elena wanted to jump at the opportunity and grab it with both hands because Alistair…Alistair was special. She wasn’t any blushing virgin by any means - the Tower didn’t exactly give a lot of privacy - but she’d never been allowed a real relationship. Anything more than a friendship in the Tower was a quick tryst in a dark corner with both parties looking out for the Templars and ready to run at first sight.

 

The logical part of her brain sent up an immediate red flag. If a Warden  _had_  to die to kill the Archdemon, there had to be a specific reason. What twist, then, would this spell put into that required circumstance? And what would the spell cost?

 

Elena fiddled with the ragged end of the ribbon dangling from her book for a moment then said, “What’s the catch, Morri?” She looked over, meeting the other mage’s yellow eyes and seeing what she could only describe as a need for her to say  _yes_ . “Spells that twist something as big as that seems…they generally cost you more than they’re worth.”

 

Morrigan nodded slightly and licked her lips. “A Warden must die to keep the Archdemon’s soul from simply jumping into another darkspawn after the dragon tis slain. This spell t’would create a child and, upon its death, summon the soul of the Archdemon to it. Tis the true soul, the soul of the Old God, not the darkspawn.”

 

“An Old God in the body of a child,” breathed Elena, barely believing it. Yet it came from Morrigan and through her from Flemeth herself. Even if she weren’t the Flemeth of the old legends, the woman had been a formidable opponent and had known the soul of a dragon enough to turn into one.

 

Then Morrigan added, “Tis a simple working to save you and your fool.”

 

A laugh burst out of her at that and Elena was reminded of how different her friend’s upbringing had been from her own. “Children aren’t simple, Morri.”

 

“They have always seemed so to me.”

 

“Trust me, I’ve been dragged into caring for the Tower littles enough to know how complicated this whole thing is.”

 

Morrigan merely arched an eyebrow and Elena smiled sadly.

 

“I’d love to tell you  _yes_  wholeheartedly, Morri, that I’d do anything to save Alistair and I, but I don’t know what will happen between now and then. I don’t even know if we’ll survive to make it to that fight.”

 

Yellow eyes flickered with disappointment - just a flash enough for her to see - and Elena added, “I’ll keep it in mind though. Thank you, sister, for offering.”

 

Morrigan smiled ever so briefly and then bid her goodnight. Leaving Elena alone at the edge of camp, staring up at the stars with the possibilities of death, life, and a child that wouldn’t be a child flitting through her head.


	2. Burn

Elena stared into the depths of the fires, her eyes on the faces of the bodies within. They had come to Ostagar expecting to find nothing and had instead discovered the King's displayed corpse and the body of their commander, as well as the taint amongst one of their own. Now they burned three bodies, making certain that the darkspawn could do nothing more to them after life had fled.

 

She bit her lip as she stared at Morrigan’s face then looked down, swearing she could still feel and see her fellow mage’s blood on her hands. Alistair and Wynne had both offered to do it instead of her but Elena couldn’t let them. For all that she loved them both, Wynne saw Morrigan as a misdirected young woman and Alistair saw her as a barely tolerated annoyance.

 

Morrigan deserved someone who cared to send her to whatever might lie beyond the fragile lives they lived.

 

Suddenly she was fighting tears and swallowing sobs, her shoulders shaking violently as she tried not to break down completely. Then large, masculine hands touched her shoulders and Elena turned to bury her face in Alistair’s shirt. It was stained with sweat from his armor as well as more sweat and dirt from constructing the pyre but that was perfectly fine.

 

He smelled _alive_ because of all that and she really needed to be connected to something other than death.

 

Alistair stroked her hair then breathed, “I’m sorry, El.”

 

“You never liked her,” Elena managed to say, her voice trying to choke up and prevent her from talking.

 

Strong fingers lifted her chin and she stared into his starkly serious eyes. “I’m not childish enough to ignore how you felt about her."

 

"I'm sorry."

 

"Shh," he bid and she closed her eyes as he folded his arms around her. Elena curled her fingers into the folds of his shirt and wished vainly that things had been different.

 

"Shouldn't we have sensed it, seen it coming?" she asked after a moment. "What use is sensing the taint if we can't even feel it taking one of our own?"

 

Alistair was silent for a long moment before he answered, "I don't know."

 

She turned her head then, resting her cheek against his chest while she stared into the fire. They stood there quietly, arms around each other, until the fire died and took with it commander, brother, and sister.

 


	3. For Love

Elena Amell closed her eyes as she stood at the window of her room in Castle Redcliffe thinking of that conversation on the road. Morrigan had been sincere in her want to help she knew as they had become close, almost sisters, during their travels. She just wasn’t sure how much she trusted something Flemeth had come up with.

 

If only she could talk to Morrigan now! She should have asked more about it then instead of brushing it off for a later time. One thing she had learned since she’d been sent to the Tower as a child was that later was never a guarantee.

 

She had forgotten that important lesson, though, and now she was on her own. Morrigan had died in Ostagar, killed by Elena’s own hands after they discovered the witch had become tainted more than a month before in the Deep Roads. She, Alistair, and Wynne had burned her body on the same pyre that they had built for Cailan and Duncan before they returned to where the rest of their party had set up camp.

 

And despite Wynne’s best efforts to be rid of them, Elena had kept all of Morrigan’s possessions; including Flemeth’s grimoire. It was sitting on top of the low table next to her bed, taunting with its presence and possible salvation.

 

Of course, Elena thought as she opened her eyes, that salvation only meant that she and Alistair _survived_ the battle. He and she had had several long conversations and come to the heart-breaking conclusion that he had to take the throne to keep Ferelden from possibly tearing itself apart. So he would marry Anora after the battle was done and she would never see him again as anything more than her King.

 

Morrigan had asked if she wanted to save the both of them and she did, Maker help her she did. She wasn’t certain, however, if the cost was worth it and there was no one she could ask. Wynne was the only one who would know enough about magic to have a good opinion and she would inevitably tell her ‘no.’

 

A soft knocking on the door pulled Elena from her musing and she moved towards it, her heart pounding suddenly in her chest. It was late enough that everyone in the castle should be asleep in order to ready themselves for the oncoming battle. And there were only a few people that would come to her door this late.

 

“El,” came Alistair’s voice from the other side of the door, “are you awake?”

 

It took every bit of willpower she had to not throw open her door and throw herself at him. Instead Elena opened it just a little and said, “You should be asleep.”

 

“So should you,” he answered with a wry smile. Then he shifted nervously, his smile turning to a frown, and asked, “Can I come in?”

 

“It’s not proper for a King to be alone in a room with a mage.”

 

As quick as his face had shifted between smile and frown, Alistair went to anger. He slammed a hand against her door and the other against the frame as if he would force the gap open and growled, “Don’t you do that. Don’t you quote Eamon at me, El.”

 

Elena stared at him for a moment then quietly stated, “It’s practically the same thing we agreed should happen.” All the while she was thinking, _Go back to bed, please, go back to bed so I won’t make a suggestion I fear you’_ _ll_ _agree to_.

 

“No, it’s not! I…Maker, El, I know what we agreed to and it wasn’t losing you forever!” He then frowned and looked down the hallway before asking, “Can I please come in? Before we wake up everyone in this wing?”

 

The logical part of her brain screamed ‘ _no_ ’ but she found herself opening the door and closing it behind him as he came inside. As she turned around and pressed her back against the door, Elena found herself hungrily eying him, drinking in his form for the last time she could allow herself to get away with it. Then her gaze turned to the book on the low table and a pit opened in her stomach.

 

“Alistair…”

 

“Yes?” he asked, turning to look at her.

 

She ducked her head, wishing that his name hadn’t come out of her mouth, and muttered, “Nothing. Nothing, I…” Her words trailed off into a gasp as his hand touched her face, the sword calluses on his fingers scratching against her cheek.

 

“El, what is it?” he asked as he moved close enough that she could feel the heat from his body but not so close that he was pinning her against the door. “Please tell me.”

 

Elena started to shake her head then found everything spilling out of her mouth. When she was done there were tears in her eyes and she looked up at him, furiously trying to blink them away as she breathed, “Is it terrible of me to consider it because I want you safe?”

 

“No.”

 

Alistair then frowned, his brow furrowed, and said, “It would then also be terrible for me to be considering saying ‘yes.’”

 

For a moment she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but move her hands to clutch at his shirt like he was her lifeline to this place and time.

 

“Alistair…”

 

“You think I don’t want you safe too?” he asked, moving both hands to her face. Elena leaned desperately into the touch and shook her head. “You trusted Morrigan.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then I trust you.”

 

She found herself blinking back tears again then said, “The child will be a bastard and most likely a mage. I’ll have to run at some point to keep him or her from the Tower. They’d kill our child if they found out it bore the soul of an Old God.”

 

The pad of his thumb brushed roughly across her cheekbone then Alistair leaned down to kiss her before whispering, “I know you would never forsake our child as a bastard. And if you have to run…I’ll do what I can to help you.”

 

“Alistair…”

 

“ _Our_ child, El. Yours and mine. I know we agreed that I have to secure the throne and marry Anora. One day I might even come to care for her, I imagine, but right now, right here it’s still you and I.”

 

It was almost too much to hear him admit he might come to care for someone else - and perhaps even love later - but there was nothing for that now. That was something that would happen now, no matter how much she might not want it, and she hated herself for agreeing to it.

 

They were Wardens and they had to think of what was best for Ferelden and all of Thedas.

 

“What about the Wardens?”

 

“What about them?” asked Alistair. He then moved closer, his body pining hers against the door, and bent his head to kiss her forehead. “They don’t matter here. This is you and I, El, with no Wardens, no crown, no nothing between us. Do _you_ want this?”

 

Elena stared up at him for a long moment then breathed, “Yes. Maker, yes, I want to be certain you live even if it won’t be me next to you tomorrow.”

 

“It will always be you I _want_ next to me,” he assured, his voice breaking slightly.

 

“Don’t say that. You don’t know if that will stay true.”

 

Alistair frowned at that then nodded. “Maybe not but for right now, in this room, it’s true until the day I die. Now…what do we have to do?”

 

She bowed her head at that, unclenching her hands from his shirt and letting them lie flat against his chest. The book lying on the table wouldn’t be any help here because she had studied the grimoire’s pages since it had come into her possession. And she had cast the spell she needed hours ago when she’d retreated to her room after supper, knowing that if she decided to speak of it, the spell would need to be on her for some time before it was able to do its work.

 

“The spellwork is already done,” whispered Elena. “We need only do what we’ve always done in our tent.”

 

“No,” he said firmly, “not what we’ve always done. Not when it’s the last time.”

 

Tears spilled from her eyes at his words, then his mouth covered hers and she lost herself in the sensations of the two of them together for the last time.


	4. An Ending

“Ser?”

 

Bann Teagan Guerrin looked up in confusion as he realized the man he'd been helping to tend his small field had stopped working. “What is it, Gerald?”

 

Gerald nodded in the direction of the road and answered, “Messenger, ser.”

 

Dread instantly settled into Teagan's stomach and as he straightened, wiping sweat from his brow and tucking his braid back behind his ear, he heard the sound of hoof beats. He knew exactly what he'd see when he turned and he absolutely did. Not. Want. To. Whatever was coming would spell doom for her and a breaking of the careful peace she'd forged in Rainesfere.

 

He turned, though, because it was his duty and smiled at the young man wearing the royal colors as he slowed his horse.

 

“BannTeagan?” questioned the youth, his brows furrowed in confusion.

 

Teagan chuckled and couldn't really blame the boy for his confusion. He was probably a Denerim lad and not familiar with nobles helping out their vassals like this. Of course, his own brother isn't the sort to get his hands dirty so perhaps  _he's_  the one out of place.

 

“Aye, lad, this is he himself,” said Gerald, leaning on his shovel with a wry grin.

 

The youth looked dubious and Teagan shook his head before asking, “What news from Denerim? Has the King some task for me?”

 

“Don't know, ser,” answered the boy as he reached into a pouch on his saddle and drew out an envelope with the royal seal. Then he slid his hand into his tunic and the dread in Teagan's stomach became all the heavier because the seal on the letter he drew out was Alistair's personal one. As the boy leaned down from his saddle, he said, “I just know I was to deliver these to you as quick as I could ride.”

 

It was hard to keep his hand from shaking as he took the letters but Teagan managed it. Fingering them for a moment, he said, “Gerald, take the lad to get some food in him, will you?”

 

“Of course, ser. Come along, lad, and we'll get this pretty lass of yours some feed and water as well.” As he waved the boy ahead, the man turned back and breathed, “She's going to be leaving us, isn't she?”

 

“I imagine so,” answered Teagan quietly.

 

“Poor lass.”

 

And then Gerald was gone, leading the youth away on his horse and chattering to him as if nothing was wrong when it was. Because five months of freedom is not enough and he just wants to strangle Alistair.

 

Sighing, Teagan moved to lean the hoe he had been using against a nearby stump then turned in the direction of a specific house, watching for a moment as smoke billowed up from its chimney. Then, like a man going to his death, he began to walk toward it with the letters in his hand seeming to weigh him down.

 

It took him several long minutes before he could knock on the door once he reached it and when Elena Amell answered, she was smiling broadly. Almost instantly, however, her expression faltered and she asked in a numb, quiet little voice, “It's over, isn't it?”

 

Teagan's heart ached for the young woman but he said nothing as he simply handed over the letter with Alistair's personal seal. Her hand shook as she reached out to take it then she whirled away, leaving him to close the door behind him. By the time he pushed the bolt shut to assure they weren't disturbed and turned around, she was sitting at the small table that occupied the kitchen side of the tiny home she'd made her own. One side of Alistair's letter was now hopelessly crumpled in her still shaking hand and he noticed that she was reading with the other curled around the swell of her belly.

 

Sitting down in one of the other chairs, he laid his own letter on the table, not ready to read it quite yet. Mostly because he was angry at Alistair and also he knew she would need someone to lean on and he was all she had here.

 

When Elena let the letter go and it drifted down to land on the table, she said, “I've been ordered to Amaranthine.”

 

“By Alistair?”

 

“By the Wardens,” she replied with an icy tone. “Apparently since they didn't know my location, they saw fit to send Alistair a letter to inform me of my new position. Alistair is, however, apparently giving me the Arling.”

 

It took a moment for Teagan's breathing to start back up after it stopped and he managed to gasp, “He's giving you the Arling. Is the boy absolutely mad? The Chantry will be up in arms when the news reaches them!”

 

Elena nodded and scowled down at the letter, idly tapping her fingers on the top of the table. “Doubly so after the news reaches them that I'm with child. Given that most know about our relationship during the Blight, they'll undoubtedly think it's his.”

 

And they'll be right, Teagan thought but didn't say. Since revealing the news to him in Alistair's office five months ago in Denerim, neither he nor Elena have referred to the child as the King's. Not for the reason that his brother and Maric had to never refer to Alistair as such but for the reason that this child is something else entirely.

 

The knowledge that the reborn soul of the Archdemon grew under Elena's skin was more than a little disturbing. Alistair hadn't told him as such but she had as soon as they were alone once he had agreed to shelter her in Rainesfere. He wouldn't have believed her if not for the absolute seriousness in her eyes telling him that she was not lying.

 

Thanks to her, he probably knew more Grey Warden secrets than he rightfully should as a mere Bann.

 

Shaking his head, Teagan asked, “What else did he say, if I may ask?”

 

“About a paragraph's worth of apology for one thing or another.” Her mouth twisted bitterly as she added, “He said he wished that he hadn't listened to me that night. That we had done it the right way.”

 

And all Teagan could think was,  _Maker preserve. Alistair, you fool._

 

He was utterly expecting it when she lifted her hand and both letter and envelope burned to ashes on the table. Elena's expression was thunderous, fury and sorrow warring across her face, and all he could think to do was lean forward and rest a hand on her knee.

 

At his touch, sorrow won out and tears spilled down her cheeks.

 

“I didn't want either of us to die. Was that truly so bad, Teagan? To grasp onto a glimmer of hope for life, even as dark as it was?”

 

A tiny part of him wanted to say yes but that was the youth that still clung tightly to Chantry teachings. After seeing the destruction of Ferelden after he and Eamon returned from the Free Marches, watching Redcliffe fall to his demon-possessed nephew, and fighting in that terrible battle against the Archdemon, however, he could not possibly say such.

 

“No,” he assured and then added, “If the Wardens still don't know where you are, you could stay. Simply refuse to go.”

 

Elena smiled sadly. “I could.”

 

“But you won't,” noted Teagan with a frown.

 

“I won't run until the Tower or the Chantry comes after me.” She paused, idly stroking a hand across her child swollen stomach, then continued, “Because they will come for me someday. Being with the Wardens will ward them off for at least a little while longer. Maybe even long enough for me to see my child grow up a little in peace.”

 

Given his understanding of her general run of luck, Teagan sincerely hoped it will happen the way she envisioned. “When will you leave?”

 

“As soon as possible. Too much longer and I'll be absolutely useless on the road should something happen.”

 

Nodding, Teagan squeezed her knee then rose, saying, “I will leave you to it then, Elena.” As he reached to pick up his letter from Alistair, her hand slid over his and he paused.

 

“Thank you, Teagan. For everything.”

 

Smiling, he turned his hand to grip hers and said, “If you should ever need shelter, my hearth will be ever open to you.” And he says it that way because Eamon has already told him it isn't likely he'll have another child and to be ready to take over Redcliffe when the time comes.

 

She nodded in response, eyes gleaming with fresh tears, and Teagan left her to her loss of peace and prospects of tomorrow. As he walked back to his own little stone keep, he opened Alistair's letter and read it quickly. There was little in the letter that directly concerned Elena...except for a tiny sliver of a postscript near the end that simply read:  _take care of her._

 

Snorting, Teagan crumpled the letter in his fist and growled aloud, “I would if you had but told the Wardens you had lost her, fool boy! Now I'll simply have to see her off as best I can.”

 

As soon as he was inside the keep, he began barking orders to what few servants he had and setting things in motion for the morrow.


End file.
